


Letters to My Own

by SweetFloatFlats



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: AU, Love Letters, M/M, Open Ending, Romance, Stalking, What’s a Good Ending?, Yandere, akiryu, pegoryu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 06:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFloatFlats/pseuds/SweetFloatFlats
Summary: After receiving a love letter from an anonymous sender, Ryuji Sakamoto finds himself in a strange predicament.





	Letters to My Own

The letters had started appearing around two weeks ago. Each paper neatly folded with a pink heart sealing the backside—creepy, if anything.

At first he had found them cute. Opening up the envelope and reading the first line of 'Dear Ryuji Sakamoto' in calligraphy on the page made him almost giddy at the secret admirer.

The only thing that made the blond wary at first was that there was no statement of meeting. Usually when someone received a letter of this sort, they would be called out to a place and time of a said confession.

However...the end of the page was blank. No name, no time, no location, nothing. The only thing left on the bottom was the date he assumed the letter was written: March 18th. 

Ryuji stuffed the first letter away in his desk for a keepsake. It wasn't intentionally—he just assumed it would be a nice trinket to brag about in coming days, weeks even.

Though, the next day, two letters appeared in his locker. 

A painful clot of confusion and maybe even fear—though he wouldn't admit so—arose in the teen's chest.

The hell? He picked up the letters and examined one in each hand. They're identical.... 

Opening them both quickly—tearing the envelope—it was easy to see just how identical they really were.

The handwriting was curvy, flowing from one word to another in the exact same manner on each of the two pages he held in his fists.

Freakin' creepy....

Crumpling the letters in his hands, the blond tossed them out as soon as he found a trash can nearby.

Assuming that this secret admirer would stop after finding—or rather, seeing—their letters crumpled up in a trash can put Ryuji's mind at rest for the rest of the day.

Though it only lasted that long.

Every day for the next week the blond delinquent received the same amount of letters as the last, plus one. The numbers kept rising as the days went on and his locker was stuffed by the end of the first week.

"Man, what the hell?! This is effin' crazy!" Ryuji clenched his fist, a letter trapped between the digits. He looked over to Mishima, who was standing nearby and had flinched at the sudden and somewhat loud crinkle of paper.

The boy laughed awkwardly and rose a shaky, uncertain finger to speak. "M-maybe you should ask the student council? It could be someone who's done pranks in the past...."

The thought stirred for a moment in the blond's mind before he shook it out. "Who the hell would keep a prank up this long? No way anyone at our damn school is that devoted!" He jammed the letter in a nearby trash can, and Mishima could almost see the puffs of angry smoke emitting from the top of Ryuji's head. 

Sometimes the dark-haired boy wondered why he had even become friends with such a...unique character like Sakamoto.

Opening his mouth to speak, Mishima closed it immediately when he noticed a familiar girl walking nearby—dirty blonde hair tied up into signature pigtails that rested easily on her shoulders.

W-what an odd bunch, Mishima thought upon noticing the clear bond the two shared when the girl spoke.

"Ryuji, keep your voice down!" The girl—Ann Takamaki—scolded, placing a hand on her hip. "Shiho and I are trying to study nearby, but all we can hear is your irritating voice!"

The delinquent flinched, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What?! Can't you see I'm damn busy?! Study somewhere else then, I've got problems!"

Ann clicked her tongue. "Ugh, just tell me then. I'll help you so you'll stop complaining." She crossed her arms now, drumming her fingers against the black fabric of her overcoat.

At this point, Mishima had withdrawn. His brow was covered in sweat just at the look of the two friends—if they could even be called that with how they acted together—together. He quickly took the chance of their argument to escape back to the volleyball club.

It was his safe haven, after all.

Continuing their rambling back and forth, Ann groaned in annoyance and rolled her eyes. "You've got to be kidding me," she mumbled, "how do you have a stalker? You're hardly even liked by any of the teachers, not to mention the other students! I can't believe this."

"Huh?!" The blond's eyes widened. "The hell does that mean?! P-people like me...! Just...not the teachers." He quickly mumbled the last part, switching one hand to rub the back of his neck.

Maybe Ann was right, though Ryuji would never admit it. This definitely was an oddity either way—no one had really liked him after what happened with Kamoshida.

Though...ever since he had been fired—neither of the two present could wrap their heads around what had changed—things had changed. And maybe, just maybe, Ryuji could finally fit in.

Whatever god out there didn't seem to favor the delinquent, however. Nothing had changed for him.

It seemed he was the only one.

A sigh brought him back to reality, and he glanced back up to the girl's face. Brows furrowed together in thought—her concentration was serious. He grinned slightly; he knew Ann didn't hate him enough to not help him for real, and it honestly just made him want to mock her for it.

Ann's light blue gaze flicked back to the boy opposite of her, and she smiled. "I have an idea," she said slowly, tapping a finger to her lips. "Just...we'll need to talk to...Nijima."

"Hah? You mean the student council president...? Like hell!" Any hope that had appeared on Ryuji's face disappeared the instant that girl's name was mentioned.

He had never really hated Makoto Nijima—though he definitely didn't like her either. There were past incidents of the brunette having him called in for skipping class, forgetting to turn in important forms, or things of the like. It was a surprise to him, and the school board in general, that he hadn't been suspended even once yet.

Yet again, after the leave of Kamoshida, things had changed for him—albeit not socially, as mentioned earlier.

The blond's grades rose and he started to become more active in school—he even joined the track club again; knowing the other members still held a grudge did have Ryuji hesitating before.

Ann waved her hand in front of his face. "Earth to Ryuji!" She called out, rolling her eyes once more. "Idiot. Let's just go. She's our best shot at this plan anyway."

The delinquent clicked his tongue, though didn't make anymore complaints. He followed the girl in silent anger and annoyance, slouched while walking.

It was a surprise to see that—upon reaching the student council room—only a few of the members were gathered. Usually during breaks the entire council would meet up—and they weren't very secretive about people knowing that their meetings were in their own, not to be discussed by others.

The dirty blonde poked her head into the slight opening of the door. "Hello? Is Nijima-senpai here?" She asked slowly.

A boy looked up, large round glasses and clear bowl-cut style hair being his...strong-suit of sorts. "And who are you?" He asked, fixing the glasses on his nose.

Smug asshole, Ryuji deducted simply.

"We're looking for Nijima. Got an issue to speak about and stuff." The blond cocked his head slightly, clearly trying to intimidate the frail-looking committee member.

The boy glanced down for a moment, seeming troubled at the tone Ryuji had given. He looked...afraid for a moment, and then nodded. "Y-yes, of course, she's currently on the roof studying by herself."

Ann looked over at Ryuji from the side. "Idiot," she mumbled, pivoting quickly to head off without him.

The irritation was prominent on the delinquent's face when she said that. He—once again—refused to argue. There was nothing Ryuji could do about Ann one way or another.

The silence on their way up to the roof irked Ryuji—it sent a strange shiver up his spine at their awkwardness. Maybe he was the only one who thought that. Still, he was glad the girl had taken her time to help him. She could've been studying herself.

Maybe it was for her own selfish gains too—diminishing the loud gawking that came from the blond every time he got angered, that is.

Either way, Ann found the door unlocked as told it would be, and she pushed it open to meet her gaze with Makoto Nijima's own.

"Huh? The delinquent and the former teacher's pet...." Makoto mumbled to herself initially, though it came out louder than she had expected and went on speaking anyway.

Usually these two oddities were never seen together—that much the brunette knew. Though seeing them together had grown more often after Kamoshida had left.

Now that she had actually started thinking about it, wasn't something about that just...too perfect to be coincidental? She didn't know the details—personal, as they were—though what she did know was that the two were involved with the teacher at one point.

Could that have something to do with this encounter?

Ann let out a sigh, which shook Makoto from her thoughts. "Listen," she started, waving her hand slightly, "we...kinda need your help. We were kinda hoping you could...possibly give us some information on people who have done more extreme pranks in the past. Nothing physically harming though. I would hope those wouldn't happen either way...."

The brunette looked up, drumming her fingers along the table she sat at in the farther corner.

They had moved closer now, and luckily she didn't have to stand just yet.

"Why? I'm obligated to know what you're going to use this information for." She skimmed her gaze up, reaching Ryuji's own—the way she looked at him made a vein pop.

"Just a personal problem," the blond sputtered out irritably in return. "Gotta find the culprit and whatever."

"Culprit?"

This intrigued Makoto. She stood, resting the palms of her hands on the table.

There was silence for a moment, one that made everyone but Nijima feel awkward.

"I'll help you get the files. You don't have to tell me why either." She smiled—the gesture was anything but sincere.

Ann and Ryuji knew they were getting into something bigger than just that—it still didn't stop them from accepting either way.

Talking which came from the Principal's office has piqued Mishima's interest—usually the Principal wasn't this loud when he spoke. The other students seemed interested as well, rumors already floating around.

"Isn't that the transfer kid?"

"You mean the criminal?"

"Don't go near him, he could hurt you!"

"No wonder the Principal's yelling at him...."

"I wonder what he did...."

Of course, usually the dark-haired boy was never one to eavesdrop, or spy.... 

Usually. 

He couldn't resist standing nearby the door, taking up a casual pose and expression, and then turning on his phone to feign ignorance of the conversation right inside the doorway.

The Principal's voice was easily heard, and more recognizable than the other.

"Now you listen here, boy," he said, slowly and angrily, "don't you dare cause any trouble in my good school. We've already fired one teacher after your arrival, and I don't like it. Not one bit."

Mishima felt his skin crawling. What did that mean? Could the transfer student have something to do with why Kamoshida was fired...?

But that couldn't be right. Could it? He had a criminal record, after all....

Though it didn't make sense that he would be trying to get back into trouble.

Within the few weeks he'd been there, Yuuki clearly noticed the pattern of the transfer student—Akira Kurusu. A boy with raven-black hair and stylish glasses. He would've been popular for his looks alone had it not been for his disturbing background.

Something had drawn Mishima to the boy—he couldn't quite pin that down—but while watching him for a few days, it was absolute that Akira had not wanted anymore trouble than he had already gotten into. He stayed quiet, paid attention in class, and—though sad—stayed away from the others as not to involve them.

He was...average, aside from the obvious.

"...Yes, of course, but I don't see how that was my fault—" The other voice, much more childish and younger than the other spoke up, and it was clear that it was Kurusu's.

Yuuki could almost hear the expression hidden behind his words—a furrowed brow; one that was defensive and yet....

"No excuses!" There was the fleshy slam of palms against wood. "You will not ruin this school's name! Now go to class."

A barely audible sigh caught Mishima's ear, and suddenly he felt a connection between himself and Kurusu.

When the door opened, he flinched away quickly and met Akira's gaze.

There was a pause, and the transfer student let the door close before sliding one hand into his pocket.

"...You heard?"

Yuuki flinched. Again. "M-me—?" He looked around and quickly pointed a finger to himself as if Akira had been talking to anyone else.

That would've made sense, though.

The wispy-haired boy nodded, and a small, amused smile made its way onto his face. "Yeah. Can I talk with you at lunch?"

Mishima felt like he was being pulled from his skin. "S-sure," he muttered out weakly in reply. His voice wouldn't come out after that.

With a dismissive and almost-friendly nod, Kurusu walked off.

Yuuki had sure gotten himself into some trouble, hadn't he?

Even if classes were boring today, Ryuji wouldn't know one way or another. Speaking with Makoto Nijima had already bored him enough—he needed a break. Just some time to himself.

Strange, isn't it?

Running a hand through the almost-fuzzy blond hair he had, Sakamoto let out a sigh.

With this many people involved, it felt like his problem was only growing rather than shrinking.

How did Ann plan on helping him anyway? The best she could do was just run to the student council for help.

...How many people was that now?

There was Yuuki Mishima, Ann Takamaki, and now Makoto Nijima—along with the Principal if things went how he assumed they would.

Damn. This wasn't going well at all.

"Hey."

Ryuji looked up quickly, ready to either run and avoid whatever trouble had come for him now or toss around excuses as to why he wasn't in class.

Neither would work for Makoto.

"You're not in class?" The brunette raised an eyebrow, but only sighed. "I think I understand how you feel. Never thought I'd say that to you of all people, though."

The blond clicked his tongue. "You're not in class either," he remarked quickly as not to lose the comeback. There was a pause for a moment, but he leaned back on his palms. "Whaddya want, anyway? There's no way you'd come just to hang out with good ol' Ryuji."

Nijima couldn't help laughing. "How about...start by never calling yourself that again. I've got some information for you. None of the students in record have pulled this kind of prank before."

Ryuji interrupted with a groan. "Oh, gee, thanks. That's so helpful," he spat sarcastically.

"Hold on." Makoto rolled her eyes and sighed. She pushed back a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "There is one student in particular who isn't on the record, though." She smiled.

Ryuji raised a brow. "Who?"

"His name is Akira Kurusu."

Opening up his bento, Mishima's hands trembled as he sat next to Akira on the roof. It was only the two of them—and that already creeped him out—but to make things worse, the silence was killing him.

Finally, after a full ten minutes, Akira spoke: "About what I wanted to say," he started, putting his food aside for a moment to lean forward. "Could you tell me about that teacher?"

For a moment, Yuuki faltered. He couldn't really wrap his head about the question.

"What...?"

"That teacher," Kurusu pressed, "the one who was fired?"

The other boy froze. Ka...Kamoshida...? Was he talking about him? No, there was no other teacher who was fired.... It was definitely Kamoshida.

He stood quickly, dropping his bento. The clatter and spilling of food made him flinch and apologize quickly. He frantically started to clean his mess, and Akira moved to help.

"I'm sorry, did...I say something?" The transfer student looked into Mishima's eyes when he said that, and it only made Yuuki move back again.

This wasn't good—he had to leave now.

Air was struggling to reach his lungs. He shouldn't have been this sensitive, but he couldn't help it.

"I-I'm sorry," Mishima choked out, shaking his head quickly. "H-he—"

Akira's eyes widened and he hurriedly held Yuuki by the shoulders to ensure he was stable. "Don't be," he replied immediately. His tone was laced with concern and something like...motherliness?

Whatever it was, it actually...helped. He started to calm down, his breaths slowing down and his heart too.

"T-thank you," he mumbled out, biting down roughly on his lip.

Akira nodded. "It's no problem. I—I didn't know that would happen. I'm sorry...."

Mishima moved away slowly, shaking his head. "I-it's fine, it wasn't your fault...." He rubbed his hands together awkwardly.

Pausing, the wispy-haired boy turned and dug something out of his bag; Mishima couldn't see what, though it looked as if he had grabbed nothing at all.

"I'd like to give you something." Smiling, Akira handed Mishima a small, pink sticker. It was shaped like a heart, and he thought he'd seen something similar before, but couldn't place his finger on it. "Look in your locker tomorrow."

Their conversation ended with that, and Kurusu stood to leave. Before Yuuki could even stumble over a 'thank you' for whatever the transfer student had planned to give him, Akira had already left.

His gaze stayed on the pink color that gnawed at his brain—surely he had seen this somewhere before.

But he just couldn't remember where.

...

The next day, Yuuki looked in his locker first as always—also as he was instructed to the day earlier. In it was a small letter donned with the same pink heart sticker he was given before by Akira—it was labeled 'Mishima'.

H...huh? Huh?

Opening it rather quickly despite what his conscience had told him to do, Mishima skimmed his eyes along the single row of letters that were smoothly placed onto the paper.

'I'm the secret admirer you know of.'


End file.
